


prima calor

by dickanchors



Series: conceptus ovium tempus [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Breeding, Come Inflation, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Omega Bucky Barnes, Public Claiming, Ritual Public Sex, Scenting, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:46:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22431313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dickanchors/pseuds/dickanchors
Summary: It’s been over twenty years since any omega from Bucky’s pack has succeeded in theirprima calor. Failure is practically part of the tradition itself now; so few omegas succeeded, some refusing to try at all, their blushing and begging off met only with fond teasing and reassurances from the packs. There is no shame in failure, but Bucky is determined to be the first in his generation to succeed.He’s shaking when they reach the foot of the dais, and sinks gratefully to his knees on the cool grass. His dam and sire place their hands on his bowed head, their scent warm and proud as a deep, resonant voice rings out above the din revelers. “Who presents this omega to be bred?”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: conceptus ovium tempus [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1614235
Comments: 27
Kudos: 836





	prima calor

**Author's Note:**

> no proofreading, we post our weird smut without examining it too closely like men. sorry if for some reason you were already subscribed to this account and got this notification twice; it turns out i do not know how to use ao3. 
> 
> prima calor roughly translates to first heat in latin, a take on the medieval prima nocta tradition (now with 100% less non-con).

It’s a short walk to the claiming fields, but Bucky feels every step as though he’s walking underwater, through a dream. Everything is both too sharp and far away, ethereal and immediate all at once. The spring air is crisp in his lungs, prickling over his flushed skin, but the lights strung through the trees are a blur in his peripheral vision, the teasing murmurs and encouraging touches from his pack coming from a far distance. He can only see the lit dais ahead of him, and the figure looming there. 

With every step the coiled tension in his belly ratchets tighter, the thrumming at the center of him deepening until he feels it humming through his bones. Anticipation and uncertainty beat in countertime against his ribs, and his breath hitches in his throat. 

“Relax, Bucky,” his dam murmurs beside him, squeezing his hand as they walk. 

“I am,” Bucky huffs, and wills each muscle in his body to loosen. 

He’s not afraid, not really. He’s been waiting for this moment since he was old enough to know what he was for, why he was so special to his pack--doted on by his beta uncles and aunties and lieutenant alphas alike. Omegas are rare and precious to their packs, to be chosen as their _prima calor_ tribute is an honor Bucky feels deeply. Even if the act itself is now only ceremonial--no longer meant to foster alliance between warring packs, but as a celebration of their years of peace and prosperity--still, there is meaning in the tradition, and he intends to make his pack proud. 

It’s been over twenty years since any omega from Bucky’s pack has succeeded in their _prima calor_. Failure is practically part of the tradition itself now; so few omegas succeeded, some refusing to try at all, their blushing and begging off met only with fond teasing and reassurances from the packs. There is no shame in failure, but Bucky is determined to be the first in his generation to succeed. 

He’s shaking when they reach the foot of the dais, and sinks gratefully to his knees on the cool grass. His dam and sire place their hands on his bowed head, their scent warm and proud as a deep, resonant voice rings out above the din revelers. “Who presents this omega to be bred?”

Something primal clutches at Bucky’s belly at the sound. It scrapes over his skin like rough hands, making him shiver and swallow down a needful whine. “Shh, beloved,” his sire whispers, squeezing the back of his neck in reassurance before stepping forward to address the Alpha General of the Rogers pack. 

“Winnifred Barnes, sir, and his dam, George,” she says. 

“And does this omega come to me of free will and sound mind?” 

Bucky takes a deep, shuddering breath and raises his eyes to the alpha seated on the dais. He’s huge, beautiful and terrifying in his size; thick arms and broad chest dusted with thick, dark hair, impossibly fat cock laying soft on his muscled thigh. The sight makes Bucky swallow hard, his belly clenching around a radiating, swelling ache. “I do, sir.” 

The alpha assessed him for a long moment. His face gave nothing away, no approval, no desire, but his gaze fell on Bucky like like a live wire, lighting him up. Making him burn. Every fantasy Bucky’s ever had has revolved around this moment, being bred by this alpha on this night. Knotted and claimed under the moon and the eyes of their packs. This alpha isn’t close enough to scent, hasn’t laid hands on Bucky yet, and still his heart is racing, his skin prickling with heat and his cunt swelling in anticipation of his first knot.

And the alpha....looks bored. Bucky can’t help but frown when he registers the alpha’s blank expression, the dispassionate way he lounges in his seat. 

“Come here then, omega,” the alpha says. His voice is gentle for all its roughness, but Bucky can’t help but wonder if there’s a note of resignation to it. For a moment, he’s frozen in place, cold uncertainty drowning out the clutching warmth. 

His sire wraps her arms around him, hugging him close, and he breathes in the comforting scent of home one last time. “Be brave, darling,” she whispers. 

Bucky can feel his dam’s nerves as he steps forward to slip the robe from his shoulders. “Relax,” he whispers, and earns himself a tweaked ear, to the delight of onlookers. 

“How can I, when my baby is about to be bred?” his dam says, pressing a palm to the soft give of Bucky’s belly. Bucky places his own hand over his dam’s, hoping with everything in him that he’s right. 

He wears only moonlight and his nerves as he ascends the steps toward the alpha, his legs shaking like a newborn pup’s, but his head held high. He is his pack’s tribute, the most beautiful and fertile of the untouched omegas, and he’s determined to carry himself with the pride they have for him. 

“What is your name, omega?” the alpha asks when Bucky approaches. 

“Bucky, sir,” he says. 

The alpha’s lips twitch in what could be the ghost of a smile, though it barely reaches his eyes. He’s beautiful, this alpha. Hair like rich, dark honey curling at his nape, eyes a bright, assessing blue, cool and remote as they look Bucky over. He stands, the bulk of him towering over Bucky and his scent blooming thick and warm in the night air. Something sharp like pine, with the heady musk of alpha overlain. A high wine escapes Bucky, everything in him contracting into a tight, pulsing fist at the first hit of his scent, instinct compelling him to bare his neck to the approaching predator. 

The alpha scents him, pressing his face to the sensitive skin of Bucky’s neck and breathing deep, a rumble of approval escaping him before he scrapes his rough beard against Bucky’s gland and sends him spinning at the spill of their combined scents. His body boils over with something immense and overwhelming, feeling at once heavy in his own body, acutely aware of every press of the alpha’s skin to his, every nuance of his thick scent, and also as though he is hovering outside his own body, watching the alpha loom over him and touch him as though he is nothing but a tiny doll. 

He makes a show of assessing Bucky; running a warm, calloused hand over Bucky’s flank and testing the soft give of his hips, skimming rough thumbs over his swollen nipples and watching dispassionately as Bucky jerks and and shivers. “A very pretty pup,” he murmurs, and Bucky hears himself whine without meaning to. 

He slips two fingers between Bucky’s lips, hooking them behind his teeth and prying his jaw open wide. He slides them along Bucky’s tongue, in and out, deeper and deeper to see if Bucky will gag. Even panting and aching, and half out of his mind with the drugging scent of this alpha, Bucky knows better. He closes his mouth around the thick fingers and swallows, sucking softly at them. The alpha holds his gaze and slips another into the easy give of his mouth. Bucky sighs and lets his eyes flutter closed, concentrating on the salt of this alpha’s skin and how good it is to be full somewhere, when the whole of him feels open and wanting.

“Have you been practicing, pup?” the alpha asks, dropping to a crouch before Bucky can answer and pressing his face to Bucky’s belly, scenting over the place inside Bucky that feels swollen and tight, a fist clenched around a hot, drumming ache. Bucky’s hands find their way into the alpha’s cool, thick hair of their own volition, holding on as the alpha moves lower, gasping when his beard scrapes roughly over his little o-cock. He feels the soft, wet press of the alpha’s tongue on his sensitive skin, and can’t help the way he jerks and cries out as the alpha mouths at him, taking him into his mouth and sucking gently. The sensation rockets through him, clenching and releasing in time with the alpha’s mouth. 

“So sweet,” the alpha rumbles, releasing him. Bucky can only stare down at the alpha crouched before him, his mouth red and wet, his eyes dark. The alpha turns him gently, and Bucky remembers what comes next in this show for the witnesses he’d somehow forgotten about until this moment. His body trembles and blushes as the alpha parts his cheeks and runs a finger over his slick hole. 

“And what about here?” the alpha says, his breath hot against Bucky’s skin. “Have you practiced here as well?”

“N-no, sir,” Bucky stutters, the shock of it bringing him a moment of clarity as he stumbles away and spins to face the alpha, unable to keep the hot gush of anger from igniting his skin. “I would not dishonor you that way.”

The alpha sighs and rises to his feet in one fluid motion, an unreadable half-smile curving his full lips. “It would be better for both of us if you had, pup,” he says cryptically, and returns to his seat at the center of the dais, leaving Bucky to frown in confusion at his back. “Come,” he says when he’s settled himself into the furs, and beckons Bucky forward. “It is almost moonrise. Let us do our duty.”

Bucky’s stomach twists at the resignation in his voice. “Sir,” he says as he nears the alpha, pitching his voice low enough that the crowd cannot hear him. “If you don’t--I mean--”

The alpha smiles sadly, as though he’d been waiting for Bucky to speak. “It is alright if you want to stop, Bucky.”

Bucky shakes his head. “No, sir. I mean--I will, if you want me to.” At the alpha’s confused look, Bucky takes a deep breath and gathers his courage. “Alpha, do you come to _me_ of free will and sound mind?”

The alpha’s face softens. “You are very sweet, Bucky.” He reaches out and pulls Bucky forward gently, lifting him onto his lap so he’s spread over his thighs. One big hand cups Bucky’s bottom, two fingers pressing at his wet hole. “But you are very small,” he says, pressing a thick finger inside. Bucky shudders out a gasp at the sensation of being touched for the first time. The alpha adds another finger, the stretch of it immense and not enough. The first breach breaks something open inside him, makes Bucky’s head empty and his heart speed, the hum at the center of him becoming a deep, painful throb. 

With his other hand, the alpha guide’s Bucky’s hand to his cock, and wraps his fingers around the thick length of it, and Bucky moans, high and desperate. It’s so much bigger than the alpha’s fingers, hot and pulsing, the head dripping wet. Bucky wants it in his mouth. He wants to know if it tastes as good as it smells, the scent of it heavy on his tongue, making him clench on his alpha’s fingers. They’re so big but they’re not enough, not when he knows he can have this. 

“Please, alpha,” he whines. “Please, I need it.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know you do,” the alpha rumbles, pressing another finger inside. “I just don’t want to hurt you.” 

“Just let me have it, please,” Bucky begs. Either heat or hubris making him sure he can take it. He knows he was made to be the first to take this alpha’s knot, to be bred and claimed by him. 

“You will have to go slow,” the alpha warns, slipping his fingers from Bucky and helping Bucky guide the head of his cock to his hole. 

At the feel of it nudging against him, Bucky has a moment of true fear mixed with desperation. It is animalistic; the driving need for it even knowing it will bring him pain. He closes his eyes breathes out like he’s been taught, bearing down on the thick, blunt intrusion and willing his body to relax, to open. The alpha’s hands are warm and gentle on him, spreading his thick scent, rumbling encouragement as Bucky whimpers through the first unbearable, searing stretch. 

“There you go, honey,” the alpha says, grasping Bucky’s little cock between his thumb and forefinger and pumping gently. It scrambles the signals in Bucky’s brain, dulling the edge of the pain as the broad head of the alpha’s cock finally sinks inside. 

“Oh,” Bucky whimpers at the stretch of it. He opens his eyes, blinking away tears to see the alpha staring down at him with dark eyes, hope and nerves evident on his face and in his scent. Bucky tips his head forward, resting it on the alpha’s shoulder and pressing his face to his scent gland, suckling like a desperate little pup in need of comfort as he works himself down on the thick shaft. His thighs are burning, his hole is aching, and still it’s not enough. Still, something desperate and greedy in him is crying for more, begging him not to stop until he’s split open and pumped full. 

“You’re doing so good, little one,” the alpha murmurs, petting a hand through his sweaty curls. “Just a bit more now, that’s it.” 

He begins thrusting up slowly, gently forcing Bucky’s hole to take more of him with each roll of his hips. Bucky can only pant and sob, hands clutching at the alpha’s broad shoulders, rolling his face in his scent and begging for it, even as he cringes with each thrust. 

“Tell me if you need to stop, Bucky,” the alpha pants, trembling under the strain of gentleness. 

“No, please,” Bucky cries. “Keep going. I want your knot, please alpha.” He arches back and grinds back against the alpha’s thrusts, the thick plunge of his cock immense and absolute. 

“Fuck,” the alpha growls and thrusts hard, seating himself fully for the first time. They still for one breathless moment, staring at each other in shock and relief as Bucky adjusts to the thick stretch. 

He presses a hand to his belly, feeling where the alpha is seated inside him. “ _Oh_ ,” Bucky gasps, and swivels his hips, testing the way it feels. He does it again, angling his hips so that swollen ache in him presses against the alpha’s cock just right. His eyes flutter closed as he finds a rhythm, his hips moving of their own accord. 

“That good, sweetheart?” the alpha asks, his hands coming to rest on Bucky’s hips.

“Yeah,” Bucky answers, voice gone high and breathless. He’s never felt anything like this before. He’d rubbed off on pillows thinking about this, what it would be like to be fucked full of an alpha, his little o-cock dribbling, his hole clenching around nothing as he came. But this is--he can’t think, he can only chase that spear of heat, that deep, sucking ache that flares to life when he moves on this cock, the stretch and the weight inside him, the _rightness_ of being so full. How did he live without this. He never wants it to end. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” the alpha rumbles, tightening his grip on Bucky’s hips and thrusting into him. And _oh god_ , nothing’s ever felt that good. The alpha moves him, drags him up and down his cock, his thrusts getting faster, and harder, until Bucky can only hear the wet sounds of himself getting fucked, the alpha’s guttural praise and his own high whines. His body is electric, buzzing and hot and the alpha is everywhere, hot hands on his back, his hips, rubbing over his wet stretched hole. Mouth on his neck, sucking at him, licking up his sweat and his tears, licking into his mouth. He is open and made full. 

“You feel it sweetheart?” the alpha asks, biting kisses into Bucky’s neck. “You want my knot?” 

“Yeah, please,” Bucky pants, already feeling the beginning of the knot stretching him further. “Wanna get bred, alpha.”

“Fuck,” the alpha snarls, slamming Bucky down onto his cock and thrusting up with short, sharp jabs until Bucky feels it inside him, the sensation of being stretched from the inside, unlike anything he’s ever felt. His body clenches down on it, clutching at it, sucking it deeper. It knows what it means. His body knows this is what it’s for. Bucky shudders and cries out as he comes, feeling the first wave of the alpha’s come pumping into him. He screams when the alpha grips a fist in his hair, yanking his head to the side, and sinks his teeth into his neck, claiming Bucky before the eyes of their packs. 

“This omega has been bred and claimed,” the alpha’s says to the crowd, voice rough and breathless. “Let our packs be forever linked in peace and prosperity.” The words are ritual, rote and made nearly meaningless in the face of generations of accord between the packs, but still the crowd erupts in joyful cheers, and Bucky’s eyes fill with grateful, proud tears. He did it. 

The alpha nuzzles at his neck, whining a little in the back of his throat as he jerks and twitches with every pulse of come. Bucky feels languid and smug, letting himself be pet by his alpha and mouthing at any bit of skin he can reach. 

He doesn’t bother opening his eyes when he feels someone approach. He’s an alpha, scent thick with ocean salt and a hint of ozone. He murmurs something low that makes Bucky’s alpha’s scent go pleased and proud, and clasps hands before moving away. 

Bucky purrs happily when his alpha ducks down to lick gently at his bond mark. “‘m gonna give you such pretty pups, alpha,” he mumbles sleepily, and running a hand over his belly, already swelling slightly with his alpha’s come, a foreshadowing of the future. 

“Yeah you are, sweetheart,” his alpha says.


End file.
